


Eden

by 0shadow_panther0



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Flustered Claude, Forest Creatures AU, High Fantasy, magical beings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21928210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0shadow_panther0/pseuds/0shadow_panther0
Summary: Oh. He might be in actual trouble, Claude thinks. Likely because he had, quite literally, poked a sleeping dragon.Or, one day, a little fawn stumbles across a goddess.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 16
Kudos: 275





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just a little thing I’ve been scribbling out between zines and non-linearity, bc flustered, in-awe claude is best claude

Claude has never been a stickler for the rules, much less ones with no meaning. “Never go to the west side of the lake,” is a particularly grave offender. The elders never give a reason for it, which rankles him to no end.

So, obviously, on one fine summer day, when everyone else is busy with lounging around and doing nothing, he slips away.

Well, almost everyone.

“Where do you think you’re going, Claude?”

He winces at the voice, turning to meet Lysithea’s unblinking eyes.

The velvet of his budding antlers itches, and he scratches them absentmindedly. “Just going for a stroll,” he says, plastering an easy smile onto his face. “Why? Did you need me for something?”

“It’s never ‘just’ anything with you,” Lysithea mutters. The feathers along her arms ruffle, owlish eyes narrowing.

He pouts. “So suspicious,” he sighs. “What did I ever do to warrant such wariness from you?”

“Plenty,” she replies darkly, and he snickers. 

“I’m just heading out and about,” Claude says. “Swear on my antlers.”

She pins him with a withering stare, which he meets with wide, innocent eyes. “Whatever,” she says finally. “I’m not your keeper. If you’re getting into trouble, just keep me out of it.”

She turns away, waving back at him without looking. “Don’t get yourself killed with whatever you’re plotting,” she says.

“Not a chance,” he calls. “You’d miss me too much.”

He’s just close enough that he can hear her snort, and he grins, turning to continue his trot towards the lake.

Despite the supposed severity of the rules, there’s nothing akin to guards watching over the paths to the western forests. He strolls at his leisure, taking in the sights that the elders would have deprived him of—which are, admittedly, not terribly different than what he sees everyday.

There’s nothing to mark the change of the forests, but he knows when he crosses the border—there’s a thrum of old magic, the kind that seeps deep into the earth and grows with the trees, that the east lacks, and he shivers despite the sun. Even he can feel the shift, with his disinclination for magic.

Other than that, there’s nothing else that seems to separate the western woods from its counterpart. As he follows a well-tread path that leads deeper into the trees, he notes the birdsong, the flora, and all of it is the same as his home. If it weren’t for the low hum of magic, he would have believed he never left.

The forest grows denser, and he has to concentrate on following the path—it wouldn’t do for him to get lost, after all—stepping over roots and weaving around shrubs. There’s a break in the trees just up ahead, and forges onward, with no particular expectation of what he’ll find. A clearing, probably. Fairy rings, drawn by magic, if he’s lucky—

He freezes.

He’s right about the clearing at least, grassy and encircled by trees, but a massive oak springs from the center, sprawling and wizened by age. There’s a hollow in its center—not carved, but natural, the roots twisting into a base and the trunk bent like a shelter—and in the hollow is a woman.

Black horns sprout from her dark hair, massive wings wrapped around her body like a cloak. A spiked tail trails along the ground, the tips of her taloned feet glinting in the shadows. She’s curled up in sleep, head pillowed by her arm.

Ah, he realizes. So there was a reason why the elders didn’t let them past the lake.

He’s just stumbled upon a dragon.

Every ounce of good sense screams at him to back away very slowly and scamper back to his side of the forest as fast as he can.

But there’s a shred of eagerness, curiosity (‘nosiness’ huffs a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Lysithea), that’s _begging_ him to get closer—

And that’s the part that he listens to.

His hooves are silent against the springy grass, barely daring to breathe as he creeps closer. He’s close enough to touch the tree she sleeps in now, close enough to see the faint shift of her body as she sighs in her sleep.

Her hair, he notices idly, is a rich, deep blue, dappled with the light streaming between the leaves, and he doesn’t realize that he’s reaching for her until his fingers catch a lock of dark hair and—

The birdsong stops.

Claude has exactly half a heartbeat to process the sudden silence before a rush throws him onto his back, wrists pinned to the ground by massive, clawed hands, and he’s staring up at cool eyes.

A wisp of smoke curls out of her mouth. “Oh?” she murmurs. “What are you doing here, little deer?”

Oh. He might be in actual trouble, he thinks. Likely because he had, quite literally, poked a sleeping dragon.

He can’t force his voice through his throat, eyes round and wide.

The dragon cocks her head, hair spilling over her shoulder and brushing his cheeks, and releases his wrists. She sits back on her haunches, still straddling his waist, and studies him intently.

“Well?” she prompts.

“I—” he starts, voice cracking. He swallows thickly and tries again. “I was exploring. Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

She hums, looking away from him to observe the clearing. She raises her arms to stretch and—

He flushes. Her clothes are in tatters, a simple black shift that’s more ragged than not. She looks strong, shoulders and arms corded with muscle, skin lined with silver scars.

He takes a steadying breath, forcing himself to relax. “I’m Claude,” he says, conversational and easy, as if he isn’t being held down by a dragon. “Apologies for the rough introduction.” He rounds off the quip with a wink, smiling as she returns her gaze to him.

“...Byleth,” she replies. She stands slowly, muscles coiling under her skin.

Claude scrambles to his feet, knees more wobbly than he’d like to admit.

“You’re from the eastern forests,” she says.

“Is it that easy to tell?” he says lightly.

She circles him slowly, and he resists the urge to pivot to keep her in his line of sight. “It is,” she says. “There are only so many who live in these parts. I thought you weren’t meant to pass the lake.”

He laughs, and it sounds self-conscious even to his own ears. “To be fair,” he says, “it was only the elders who told us not to go. They never mentioned that another party was barring entry.”

“Clever,” she says dryly, stepping back in front of him.

She’s quiet for a moment, and thrum of his heartbeat thunders in his ears. “What season is it?” she asks suddenly, and he blinks at the non sequitur.

“Season?” he echoes. “Ah—it’s summer. The beginning of Verdant Moon.”

Her brow furrows. “What year?”

 _Year_? “1180.”

She frowns at that, repeating the number under her breath. Her wings flex restlessly, tail dragging through the dirt.

Her eyes flicker up to meet his. “You should leave,” she says, and turns to stride into the depths of the forest.

Claude gapes. “W—wait!” he calls, trotting after her.

She doesn’t stop, but she at least glances back. “What.”

He falls into step beside her. “Well, why not tell me about yourself before you go?”

She arches a brow. “Pardon?”

He grins crookedly. “Can you blame my curiosity? I’ve discovered quite the secret.” He’s all charm and easy grace, but his mind is buzzing furiously.

She hums. “I don’t have the time now,” she replies, pushing her way through a particularly dense patch of shrubbery, and he follows, squinting at the sudden flood of sunlight as they break through the edge of the forest. “But,” she says, “if you come again this time tomorrow, I might.”

He blinks, then stumbles to a stop when the ground in front of abruptly disappears—she’s led him to the edge of a steep cliff, acres of forest sprawling beneath.

Byleth extends her wings, wind whipping around them from the force, and steps off the edge.

He scrambles to the edge, peering over it. Her figure rapidly shrinks as she hurtles down towards the trees, and for a moment he thinks she might dive bomb the emergence before her wings flare out to catch the air. She glides, skimming the leaves with her tail, before she dips down beneath the canopy and out of view.

He doesn’t realize how weak his legs are until he collapses into the grass with a soft ‘oof,’ sucking in a gulp of air like he’d only just remembered to breathe.

“Dragon,” he says to the trees, giddy and dizzy and nearly trembling. He laughs breathlessly. “There’s a _dragon_.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Leonie,” he hisses the next day, trying to subtly catch her attention.

The girl perks, padding towards him on silent paws, a strung bow slung on her back. “What’s up?”

“You’re going hunting today, right?” Claude asks as casually as he can, trying not to anxiously shift his weight.

Leonie squints at him. “Yeah. Why?”

He bites the inside of his cheek. “If anyone asks, would you say I was with you all day today? I’ll throw in a bottle of senna extract for your troubles.”

She arches a brow. “Three bottles.”

He grimaces, then barters, “Two bottles, and I’ll sneak one into Lorenz’s food whenever he offends you next.”

“Deal.”

* * *

The path back to the oak isn’t terribly hard to find, despite his fear that the day before was somehow a dream.

But the path is still there, as calm and quiet as the previous day, and he trots along it, shuddering as he crosses the threshold to the western forests. The magic is as unnerving as before, seeping into his bones like hoarfrost.

He shakes off the sensation, picking his way through through the underbrush. He’s earlier than yesterday—the morning isn’t even half over, but he hadn’t been able to wait.

By the time he bursts into the clearing he’s nearly running, practically trembling with anticipation. The oak tree is as majestic as ever— but the hollow of it is disappointingly empty.

“Ah,” comes a voice. “There you are.”

Claude’s head whips up, looking to the branches.

Byleth is perched in the boughs of the tree like some terrifying, oversized bird, wings folded neatly against her back and talons digging into the wood.

She drops down, landing on the ground in a deep crouch, and he can see, very clearly, the deep furrows in the branches left by her claws.

“Well?” she asks, straightening. “What did you want to ask?” She stretches, long and languid, and his eyes are immediately drawn to the lines of her shoulders, the dense cords of muscle along her arms where black scale fades to pale skin.

He swallows. “Well,” he says, and finds his voice a touch raspier than he expected, “I figured asking why the woods are separated would be a good start.”

Byleth offers an absent hum. “It wasn’t my decision. I imagine it’s because people tend to be skittish around my kind.” She glances at him. “It’s a little hard to be around people that you’ll outlive by centuries.”

She paces slowly, tail skimming the grass. Her movements are wolf-like, almost, deliberate and restrained. 

“Whose decision was it, then?” he manages, wrenching his eyes away from the gleam of her claws.

“The elders,” she replies dryly. “Old dragons scrambling for relevance.”

That startles a laugh from him, and he grins crookedly. “Our people may have more in common than you think.”

Her mouth curls up at the corners. “Perhaps.”

The sight of her smiling makes him pause—long enough that she apparently notices his silence and looks to him questioningly, expression smoothing back to impassiveness.

“When we… met, you asked me for the year,” he continues. “How long were you asleep?”

She exhales slowly. “Awhile.” She glances at him, seemingly registering the disappointment on his face. “Longer than I meant to be,” she amends. “It happens sometimes. It was… a few years.”

“Hibernation?” Claude says. Bernadetta sleeps away the winter months. It’s not _years_ , but perhaps dragons function similarly.

Byleth looks faintly amused. “Something like that.”

 _Something like that_ isn’t quite what he’s looking for, but it’s more than he expected.

“Right,” he says. “Well, I have one more thing to ask you.” He pauses dramatically. “What’s the most beautiful place in the western forest?”

She blinks. “Most beautiful…?” she echoes.

“Of course,” he says. “I’d like to take a look around, see the sights, view the views and all that.”

“It would be unwise for you to wander alone,” she comments.

“Is that your way saying you’d like to come with me?”

“It’s my way of saying you might get into trouble if left alone,” she replies dryly.

He laughs. “Then allow me amend my question—would you come with me to the most beautiful place in the western forest?”

The looks she sends him is unreadable, but he keeps the charming smile on his face.

“Why not,” she says finally.

He beams.

* * *

She leads him to the cliff she had dropped off of the previous day, dizzyingly tall.

“Oh,” he says. “I mean, I’m no mountain goat, but I think I can manage—ah!”

He yelps as Byleth effortlessly scoops him up, hefting him up with an arm around his haunches. He grabs her shoulders on reflex, pressing flush against her.

“Hold on,” she says, rather unnecessarily, and steps off the edge.

His undignified squeak is (thankfully) lost to the rush of wind. He clings to her like moss to a log, fingers digging into cool scales. They plummet towards the tree tops and he’s a mere breath away from screaming when Byleth’s wings snap open, their descent stopping with an abrupt lurch.

Two beats of her wings send them soaring back up, and she settles into an easy glide.

“Are you alright?” she asks, shifting her hold on him.

“Please don’t let go,” he wheezes in response, arms wrapped around her neck.

“Don’t wiggle, then,” she replies, and he freezes, every muscle pulled taut to snapping.

He feels rather than hears the rumbling laugh that rises from her chest. “Relax,” she says. “Look around—what do you see?”

Claude reluctantly loosens his death-grip on her shoulders the barest amount, turning wind-watery eyes to the sprawling forest below.

“Uh,” he says. “I see… trees.” He squints past the stinging wind. “A lot of them, actually.”

She snorts. “Cute,” she says. “I said around, not below.”

He wrenches his gaze upward, and—

Oh.

The sky is bright—brighter than he could ever have imagined after so long under the trees. The clouds are massive, and he watches, awestruck, and the tip of Byleth’s wing skims the edge of one and scatters mist in its wake, glittering in the sunlight.

“Well?” she asks, and the lilt of her voice is decidedly self-satisfied.

He has to search for his voice. “It’s beautiful.”


End file.
